


Winter Is Right Here

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Autumn, Christmas, Desire, Halloween, Male Slash, Memories, Multi, Polyamory, Relationship(s), Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Ambrose was made for the cold seasons, but he doesn't celebrate Christmas. Halloween is the only holiday that suits him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Is Right Here

 

 

“Look out!”

 

A snowball splattered against Dean's shoulder. He paused and turned his head to fix eyes on whoever had had such crummy aim. A kid in a blue-knit hat and matching gloves waved an apology from a nearby lawn. Dean nodded in reply and got on his way again, his bare fingers brushing off the snow. The chill sank into his skin. He liked the cold, it suited him.

 

The only concession he’d made to the weather was a thick jacket. He didn’t need anything else. The moon was a wicked grin in the sky, like it was in on the joke. Dean smirked back.

 

The expression lessened when he noticed the Christmas stock already laid out in store window displays. It was only just Halloween and commercialism was already bursting at the seams to grab hold of the population. Dean narrowed his eyes as he passed a run of stores all featuring a car-crash combination of Halloween and Christmas. It stunk of desperation.

 

Dean moved on. He didn't celebrate Christmas. His only marking of the season was the lighting of a candle in the front-room window, because that was a seasonal memory he allowed himself to treasure. Everything else got purged yearly. He had turkey on Thanksgiving, he didn't need it a month later too. He didn't need useless gifts, empty churches, or the nauseating syrup of seasonal television. None of it meant anything to him.

 

At home, there was a hot chocolate mix that he'd spike with something good when the time came. A perfect childhood reenactment. At this time of year, he ignored any messages left on his phone. The only people he wanted to talk to regularly shared his bed.

 

At night, they lay wrapped up in each other, the fall cold kept away by dedication and body heat. It was the only way Dean ever accepted the cold's absence, the only occasion when heat was not only preferable but craved, like the burn of good alcohol.

 

*

 

A gaggle of brightly-costumed children crowded their way down the sidewalk. Dean watched them idly, remembering the smell of cheap facepaint, tying his Dad’s tie too tight round his own neck, his sister painting on freckles and laughing. Halloween had always been his preferred holiday. Now he flipped up his jacket collar and kept on walking, a song playing nostalgically inside his head.

 

Before long, he was veering down a street where there seemed to be a pumpkin in every yard. He nodded at anyone who greeted him by a false name, but he didn't smile. His front yard housed a couple of pumpkins too, their knowing ghoulish faces shining with candlelight. A house bare of any Halloween decorations would only draw attention. His house was normal enough to look at. His back now to the street, something amused flickered into being across Dean's face. Normal, what a concept.

 

Once he got past the front door, he was enveloped by loud music – Seth was in. The music was harsh and snarling, the kind that appealed to Seth's constant temper. He'd sing and shout, raising a triumphant fist. It always made Roman smirk something close to a grin.

 

Inside, the house was decorated with lit candles of all shapes and sizes on every available surface. The light-show it caused on the walls was spectacular, Dean lingered for a moment to watch the flickering flames. Steam fogged up the kitchen windows as he opened the fridge to retrieve a beer. Seth's hand reached past him for a soda bottle. When Dean turned, Seth was stood a little ways off, his hair long and loose and his face painted up like a skull. His eyes were dark malicious shadows, his mouth a cruel amused line. Dean's smile matched it.

 

Roman was a silent specter in the doorway, his hair knotted intricately and his arms glistening with something. Sweat? Or something more artificial? Either was a tantalizing possibility. He wore a pair of loose dark pants and nothing else, but when he walked into the dim dancing light, it revealed that his upper body was covered with whorls of dark paint forming complex eye-catching patterns. It was a story on skin, mesmerizing.

 

The only sound was the still-loud music, winding provocatively around the trio as their eyes stayed hot on each other. This was the reason for the season, the only part that mattered to Dean. It was the only gift he wanted. Something thudded hard in the dark recesses of his chest.

 

Seth opened his bottle and drank down soda, his make-up somehow staying untouched. He produced a candy apple from somewhere, an improbable act since he was dressed in tight-fitting black and gray that covered every inch of skin from his ankles, to his wrists, to his neck. But there was the apple, a shiny Halloween bauble, a perfect poisonous fairytale, everything Dean desired. When Seth walked a step closer, Dean could smell the hint of boozy caramel adorning his breath.

 

“Trick or treat?”

 

_-the end_


End file.
